Yours
by The Stupid is Always Possible
Summary: Truthfully, halfheartedly, sadly, hopefully, excitedly, abysmally, implausibly, unexpectedly, grudgingly, regretfully, happily, unfairly, surprisingly, graciously, unabashedly, amazingly, actually yours. A story of love, hope, and healing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: *clears throat* Hello! Welcome to this story. I do hope you enjoy the first chapter and if you have any feedback for me reviews are wonderful! ********Huge thanks to MadeOfTitanium for beta reading this chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters associated with it. I am not making money off of this. Believe me.**

_**"Fear can hold you prisoner. Hope can set you free." **_**-Stephen King**

_Calm._

_Everything was calm. It was perfect. Well, not perfect, but a damn sight better than the usual. This was the only sane time in life anymore. Or sane place. Not really sure which it was. That pleasant unconsciousness in sleep. You're not really aware of anything…except the fact that you feel content. Content to just let it all go. Content not worry. Content to just lie there peacefully._

_**Beep, beep, beep!**_

Hermione Jean Granger rolled over and flopped her hand to the nightstand, feeling around until she, by chance, hit the snooze button on her Muggle alarm clock. She forced her eyes open and glanced around her tiny room. It was still dark, the sun not yet peaking over the horizon. She wanted, more than anything, to roll right back over and drift off to that comfortable nothingness she felt only when asleep. But her job. Her job was important and she wasn't going to give in to the beckoning pillow and soft sheets. She dragged herself out of bed and stumbled on her cat, Crookshanks.

"I'm sorry Crooky," Hermione crooned, leaning down to pet the indignant lump of fur. Crookshanks stood and stalked to a corner, sitting down and crossly licking a paw, back turned.

Hermione stretched her arms over her head, feeling the dull, sleepy contentment already wearing off and the harsh worry and stress replacing it.

One month. It had been a month since Lord Voldemort had been defeated for the last time. A month since Hermione had lost friends and schoolmates to the insanity of the final battle. It still rang so clearly in her senses; people crying out for help or in rage. Bursts of light from spells. The adrenaline rush of dodging an attack. The pain of seeing a fallen child.

Hermione was jerked out of her dazed thoughts when Crookshanks, ready for breakfast, meowed impatiently. She shook her head, almost as if to clear the haze of her thoughts (To little avail), and strode out of her bedroom towards the kitchen. She scooped a cup of cat food and spilled it into Crook's dish, the plinking food drawing the cat into the room.

"There you go, Mister," Hermione said, setting the dish down. Crookshanks sniffed the food and, after one last uninterested glare, began eating. Hermione prepared her own breakfast (Eggs and toast) to her cat's crunching. She set the meal down at her small table and started at the plate, not really seeing it.

Her parents…she still hadn't located them. And, location aside, she had no idea if she would be able to restore their memories or not. Also, the possibility of them not being okay tugged at her brain. Although she tried to ignore that. The rebuilding of the magical world. The catching of the last loose Death Eaters. The new, and young, Minister of Magic. Everything seemed to have stacked up into a tower that now leaned over Hermione, threatening to fall and crush her.

Hermione sighed and scraped her untouched plate into the garbage, returning to her room to prepare for work.

~8~

George Weasley stared out his window, down at the abandoned street in Diagon Alley. It was early. Probably only three or four in the morning. The birds weren't even up and singing yet. George hardly cared though. Their songs were too cheerful. Too bright. Fred was dead, damnit! The birds weren't supposed to sing without him being around. Maybe that was why George never slept anymore. Because if he stayed up all night and fell asleep in the early hours of the morning he could miss their songs. And the bustle of people carrying on their lives as if nothing had changed. And the dark. The horrible dark. The dark that Fred must have seen before he died. Or felt. Or heard. Or, more likely, he stayed up to avoid the nightmares. Not that they didn't come in the morning, because they did. Just less violently.

They usually lacked the scream of Fred. The sight of his broken, still body. The feeling of absolute hopelessness. The dread of replaying what had already happened. The fear of living life without him. Without the twin that had been there since birth.

George couldn't even bring himself to open the store. And the new products that had been being developed all went in the trash. It couldn't be done. Not without Fred.

The world, spinning so surely, had suddenly ground to a halt. It slid sideways and was out of line. And George was quite positive that it never would fix itself. And he couldn't fix it. He lacked the skill to right what was impossible wrong.

George sighed heavily as he turned towards his bed, the first twitter of a bird announcing another day. He feared it. The bed. The constricting sheets, the smothering pillow, the horrors that lay in wait. He feared it, but his perpetually tired body insisted. So he carefully climb into it and held his breath, a tightness compressing his ribs. He closed his eyes, if only to shut out the soft songs of the birds.

~8~

Hermione stepped out of one of the many fireplaces in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. Everyone in the lobby, who had been talking or walking or carrying out some task, stopped and stared. No one tried to hide their interest and hope. She, the Advisor to the Minister for Magic, was always observed openly. If she showed signs of hope, happiness, or calmness they all picked up on that…in the same way that if she came in with her shoulders slumped, her eyes inspecting the floor, or her face strained they would all lose what joy they had. So she braced herself before Flooing. The same every morning; shoulders back, head up, smile in place. Even if she felt like melting into a puddle on the floor.

She began walking to the lifts, nodding or smiling encouragingly at everyone she passed. She even greeted a few of the more depressed ones with a 'good morning'. She stepped into a waiting lift and nodded at its single inhabitant; a young looking girl with a stack of papers. The lift started on its way and the two females stood in relative silence. Hermione, while occupied with other thoughts, noticed the girl glancing at her every few seconds.

"Where are you headed?" Hermione asked, nodding towards the pile of paper. Her mind was elsewhere though. Namely on the fact that she needed to ask the Minister if the Aurors had found any sign of the last followers of Lord Voldemort…the ones who had escaped capture thus far.

"Th-the D-department of Magical Accidents and C-catastrophes," The girl whispered, her voice breaking.

Hermione smiled positively, "Is that your department?" She also needed to find out if there was any news about her parents…no, she _wanted_ to. That was how everything worked any more. Anything labeled with 'need' was put above 'want'. And she did not need to find out about her parents. If she got a minute she would ask.

"Yes," The girl said. She looked at Hermione thoughtfully for a moment before asking, "Is it true?"

Hermione shook herself out of her thoughts as the lift came to a stop, "I'm sorry…I didn't catch that? Oh, is this your stop?"

The girl glanced out at the hallway, "Yes." She made no move to leave though. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Hermione asked, glancing at her watch discreetly.

"The rumors…about how bad our situation is?" The girl shifted her stack of parchment from one arm to the other.

"Of course not," Hermione scoffed lightly. "We have already made leaps and bounds in getting back to normal."

The girl seemed satisfied with this answer. She nodded at Hermione and exited the lift, letting it start up again and trundle on its way.

Hermione sighed; she hated lying. But what if she had told that innocent girl the truth? The fact that their security was at an all-time low, that there was more orphaned magical children then there ever had been in the history of the Minister, that they didn't have enough people to do all the jobs that needed to be done. What then?

Hermione stepped out of the lift onto her floor and walked to the Minister's office. She opened the door and entered her office which, for the Minister's sake, was an entryway to his office. It kept down on pointless visitors. Hermione could fix most of their problems…or send them away if they had come to see the Minister about a raise. Which happened far more than it should.

She approached the Minister's door and knocked.

A distant, 'come in' sounded. Hermione opened the door and looked at the man sitting in the chair behind the desk. He still wore the horn-rimmed glasses from his school years and his hair had changed only in the sense that it was trimmed slightly shorter.

"Good morning, Percy," Hermione said, slumping down into the chair in front of his desk. She didn't need to hold up a façade in front of him; he, better than anyone, knew the dire situation they were in.

He snorted, "Is that what this is? So far I have heard that we lost the Auror, Kendal Waters, hunting down Marshall…you know, one of the ex-Death Eaters…another three kids were added to the orphaned lot, and four people quit or, as they called it, 'resigned because of the terrible conditions'. Oh, and one person asked for a raise."

Hermione grimaced, "That answers my question about the hunt for the convicts."

"Yeah," Percy nodded sadly. He remained silent for a moment before speaking again, "Ron was here earlier."

Hermione spoke cautiously, "Yeah? He okay?"

"As well as can be expected considering…considering F-Fred-"

"Percy…don't." Hermione shook her head minutely.

Percy glared at the desk in front of him and plowed on as though Hermione hadn't spoken, "Considering Fred died a month ago."

"Please…don't do that. It's normal to be upset. Don't try and break it out of you." Hermione said softly.

Percy ignored her again, "He wanted to see you. He said that you haven't talked since two weeks ago."

Hermione sighed, "Percy…you know I don't have the time. Did you tell him I was sorry?"

"I told him that you were busy and not to take it personally," Percy said, "But…it's Ron. He takes it very personally."

Hermione scrubbed her hand over her face, "I'll try to visit him soon. Right now though I need to concentrate on work."

~8~

_A cry. Of fear and pain. It pierced the silence. Fred! George felt like he was running through waist high snow. And that scream. It remained. It kept coming. It was like ice water running through George's veins, non-stop. Until the scream_ _stopped. That's when he felt relief from the frigid blood. Because his heart stopped. Pumping blood was no longer important. Fred's scream was gone. That meant that when George took his next step, around a corner, he would find Fred's broken and battered body. _

_And it was no different this time; there he lay, eyes blank, mouth slightly agape, body stiff. George fell to his knees and began crying, tears burning tracks down his face. And breathing. Fred wasn't breathing. It seemed odd; the absence of the steady rise and fall was what glared at George, stating 'he's dead'. George felt it unnecessary to breathe in that moment. Nothing mattered. Nothing. No-_

George sat up, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat and tears. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring his body's protest that it needed more sleep.

It had happened. The nightmares were invading the day.

George stood up and blearily pulled his shade up, letting in the midday light. The street below was now teeming with shoppers and the silence of earlier was gone. George stared, unseeingly, at the crowd, the image of Fred lying still burned into his mind. It haunted him. Never leaving him alone for a minute. He sighed and stumbled from the room. His stomach cried out in hunger. So he let it lead him to the kitchen.

George entered the small kitchen and held back a groan. Lee Jordan, old school friend and new employee, sat on one of the tall chairs at the table.

"George," Lee said, squinting his eyes at George as if trying to read tiny writing.

"Going blind?" George asked dryly. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

"No." Lee still stared

George ignored him and pulled out his wand, flicking it once. A glass popped out of one of the cupboards and the fridge opened, releasing the orange juice. They met half way over the counter and produced a full glass of orange juice. Which then skittered down the counter and flew into George's hand.

Lee, who hadn't moved his eyes from George's face once during that spectacle, raised one eyebrow, "Was that really necessary?"

"Is your presence really necessary?"

"Are you going to answer every question with a question?"

"Are you?"

Lee sighed, "I'm worried about you George…you know that."

George gulped a mouthful of orange juice and didn't deign to answer.

"Just talk." Lee looked down at the tabletop in front of him. "Please? I miss the George who talked."

George snorted, "Why are you here, Lee? To give me another lecture? I thought I made it clear that I wanted you to keep your nose out of my business."

Lee looked up from the table, "Would you?"

George set his now empty glass in the sink, "So you _are _going to answer every question with a question."

Lee's face remained impassive, "Would you?"

"Would I what?" George asked, walking up to the table so he stood across from Lee.

"If it was me in your position…and you in mine…would you leave me alone? Stay 'out of my business'? Let me deal with it on my own?"

"There's nothing to _deal_ with!" George snapped, placing his hands on the table.

"Clearly there is!" Lee said in exasperation, standing up and shoving his chair back in the same movement.

"Oh just get out, Lee!" George said in disgust, straightening up.

Lee glared.

George glared back.

Lee glared some more. But, as if defeated, he sighed and turned to the doorway. "Angelina wants to see you. She asked if she could come today. I told her no, that you were sick and didn't want to pass it to her. I didn't think you'd want to see her just yet."

George felt a rush of regret and sadness. Sadness for, and because of, Angelina. She had lost Fred too. And the regret; that was for his horrid behavior towards the best friend, who had lost Fred as well, who wanted to help George, who saved him from having to face Angelina now, who cared about him.

"Wait!" George cried to Lee's retreating back.

Lee halted, but didn't turn, "What?"

"I…I'm sorry," George slid down into one of the chairs at the table and rested an elbow on the table. "I was being a jerk."

Lee turned, a small smirk on his face, "Yeah…you were."

"Hey, I didn't get a lot of sleep," George said, mock defensive.

Lee returned to the table and plopped down across from him, "Look, George…I know you don't want to talk about this right now, but sooner or later you're gonna have to face Ange. She needs to see you. You're one of her best friends."

George nodded slowly, "I want to see _her. _I just don't want to see what comes with her. The memories."

Lee just sat quietly, waiting for George to explain further.

"She loved him. Fred. And he loved her." George felt his eyes tingle. "They were perfect for each other. And now she has to live without him. And she'll look towards me. And I won't be any good for her. I'm not Fred. I can't replace Fred. I can't come _close_ to Fred."

"You underestimate yourself, George," Lee said sadly. "Give it a chance. You'd be surprised. Besides…you don't have to replace Fred. She doesn't need a lover. She needs _you_. The friend."

George shook his head, "What if I can't be the friend? What if I'm incapable of being me?"

The question hung in the air, the fridge humming in the background. Lee seemed unable to answer. And George didn't blame him.

~8~

Hermione scrubbed her eyes, the weak light from her wand straining them as she poured over the latest Auror report. Threats. Now they were being threatened with a prison break-out. The ex-Death Eaters had rallied and planned an attack on Azkaban. They were going to release all the hard work. Make everyone start over. Not only the Aurors, but also everyone who had worked on rebuilding. Both buildings and lives would be lost if the Death Eaters already captured escaped. The threat was empty at this point, but there wasn't anything proving it wrong either.

Hermione stood up and filed the report under the urgent category. She had three filing cabinets filled with 'urgent' things. It never got any better. She worked at it each day, but the problems being created kept outweighing the problems being solved.

Hermione glanced at her watch. Ten thirty. She was, no doubt, one of the only people left in the building. She yawned and dragged herself to Percy's door, knocking. There wasn't a reply. She knocked again. Still nothing.

She wasn't exactly worried; he had left earlier than her before. But she would be surprised if she hadn't noticed him leave. He had to walk right past her on his way out. She knocked one last time and, when no answer came, she opened the door quietly.

He hadn't left. He sat in his chair, a piece of paper on the desk before him, his eyes locked onto it.

"Percy?" Hermione asked softly, fully entering the almost dark room, his wand giving off the only light. "You should go home. Get some sleep."

Percy barely raised his head, "No."

"Percy," Hermione said, her voice firm.

Percy looked up and meet her eyes, "You are dismissed, Granger."

Percy only used her last name when he was around other people or when he was serious. Hermione doubted that there was someone hiding in the shadows (Although it _was_ possible) that was causing him to act this way. She inclined her head and turned around.

Maybe if she hadn't been so god damn exhausted she would have insisted. Or if she could resist the calling of that perfect darkness that came with sleep. Or if she had been less stressed. Or a lot of things. Regardless, she left the room and started making her way home.

Percy, left alone, sat in the dark, the stark white piece of paper, with its inky black words, glaring at him.

~8~

It was later. How much later, George wasn't entirely sure. The sun had reached its peak and begun it's decent, but wasn't disappearing just yet. Lee had left.

George's body cried out for more sleep, but he refused to listen. He couldn't face it again. Not now. Maybe, when the desire for rest overpowered his fear, he would forget how vivid the nightmares were and be able to climb back into the dreaded bed. But now…now the image still rested fresh in his mind and scared him away from shutting his eyes.

_Thump_

George jumped, his thoughts scattering. It had come from downstairs in the shop. He pulled his wand out, trying to recall if he'd locked the shop or not. He was quite certain he'd never _un_locked it, actually.

He stood and crept to the top of the stairs, holding still and listening. He heard a muffled voice. It was indiscernible from this distance, but George doubted that someone meaning harm would be talking so openly. He sighed and stuffed his wand away, walking down the stairs.

It hit him before he realized what happened; a warm body, traveling at a _very_ high speed slamming into him and intertwining limbs. Both arms and legs. For a moment all George could see was a mess of black hair, but when the form finally stopped moving (Mostly anyway…it still shook with sobs) he realized that it was Angelina.

She had jumped up on him, wrapping her legs around his back and her arms around his neck, supporting herself against him. Her face was buried in his neck and he felt tears hitting his skin.

"Ange…" George trailed off, unsure of what to say. He snaked his arms around her back and held her close to him.

She lifted her head and half-said, half-cried, "You arse." It seemed to be all she could manage because she quickly returned her head to its earlier position.

"What; no 'hello?'" George asked in a soft, joking voice.

A harder sob was all he got.

George hobbled his way to the counter at the front of the store and set Angelina on top of it, leaning back to look at her face.

Aside from the tear tracks and puffy eyes she looked pretty healthy. Her hair was longer, George noticed. And she carried herself with the air of a much older person.

"W-why, Ge-george?" Her eyes pleaded for the truth, but also gave away how much she feared it. "Why d-didn't you w-want to se-see m-me?"

George opened his mouth but found that his throat felt blocked, tight and constricted. He tried to force words out, but none came.

"D-did you th-think I was j-just going to leave you a-a-alone?" Angelina asked, wiping fiercely at her eyes. "Did y-you _want_ m-me to lea-leave you al-alone?"

"No." George finally managed.

"Well, what then?" Angelian asked.

"I thought Lee told you not to visit me today?" George said, the thought finally registering in his head.

"He did, but I-" Angelina stopped talking suddenly, squinting her eyes a fraction.

"Wha-"

George was cut off when a resounding slap hit his face.

"You're not sick!" Angelina cried, her face that had been filled with sadness and sympathy earlier now overtaken by rage.

"Oh…um…cough?" George said ruefully, rubbing his cheek where Angelina's hand had hit it.

Angelina attempted to glare at him, but ended up laughing instead. "Oh George…I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Ange," George said, smiling softly. He had expected blinding white pain to accompany the girl his late twin had loved, but he was actually genuinely happy to see her. "I guess I didn't want you to come visit me because I thought that it would be too painful for both of us."

"When has seeing you ever _not_ caused me pain?" Angelina smiled softly, telling George that she was teasing.

"I'm sorry," George said. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for; not seeing her, her lose, her pain…or all of it.

She met his eyes, tears still sneaking out of her own, and said, "So am I."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Huge thanks to Bubbly Llama (aka MadeOfTitanium) for beta reading this chapter. **

**Reviews motivate me, so don't be shy about leaving your opinion!**

**Thanks go to my first reviewers: back. stage .VIP and Bubbly Llama.**

"_**I've cried, and you'd think I'd be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life." –Conor Oberst.**_

George sat beside Angelina on the couch in his living room. After Angelina's teary arrival they had moved upstairs and had been discussing Lee's strange penchant for visiting the Ministry of late. It seemed that both of Lee's friends had noticed that he spent more time than expected at a place he really had no reason to be at. George insisted that it was because of a girl, while Angelina suspected that it had more to do with his worry about the magical world.

George was surprised, honestly, that he was able to carry on such a normal conversation. Although he supposed that his ability to do so stemmed more from his desire to avoid other topics rather than actual normalcy.

"And anyway…don't you think that if there was a girl, he'd have told us about it?" Angelina said, gesturing empathetically with one hand. "I mean, he wasn't exactly quiet about his interest in me in school, was he?"

George chuckled, "He wasn't truly interested in you Ange… he was trying to make F-" George stopped, choking on his own words. He hadn't even realized where his sentence was going until he had almost spoken Fred's name. He opened his mouth again, racking his brain for words to distract Angelina from what he had been about to say.

"He was trying to make fun of me?" Angelina asked, her mock anger doing little to cover her obvious pain. She knew that George had been about to say Fred's name.

"Yeah," George said quietly. "Yeah."

The pair fell silent, neither sure how to retract the conversation back to something lighter. George held back a frustrated sigh; he couldn't even carry on a conversation without bringing up Fred. He was pathetic. Hopeless. Useless. Why did he even t-

George's thoughts were cut short by Angelina curling up next to him, her head on his shoulder, "You're doing it."

George crinkled up his forehead and, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, asked, "Doing what?"

"I can tell that you're deep in thought because you are making the same face that F-Fred used to make," Angelina whispered softly, burrowing her face into the crook of his shoulder and chest. She wasn't crying, but George could tell that tears were hiding just behind her quiet words.

He had a strong urge to pull away from her, let her head hit the couch as his body moved away. Not because he had any repulsion to her, but because he felt as though he was intruding. Passing a line. Taking a step into territory that wasn't his.

He and Fred hadn't always been the most careful when it came to mix-ups between the two. Fred had once 'stolen' George's girlfriend (If she could even really be called that) and George might have made out with a girl or two under the pretense of being Fred. They never really lied…people just were never carful enough when specifying if it really _was _Fred that they were about to kiss. They two twins never held any hard feeling over it either. In fact, it had been a sort of joke between the two and it amused them to no end when a breathless, airhead of a girl would come charging up to the pair of them and start flirting madly with the boy she _thought _had kissed her last evening in a deserted corridor. Or, in the random chance that the girl had, indeed, approached the correct boy (Or incorrect, depending on how you look at it) would be told, 'Fred? I'm George!' or vice versa.

But when Fred had asked Angelina to the Yule Ball (And on the ensuing dates) something had changed. Fred never said a word about it, but George instinctively knew not to pretend to be Fred with her. If she ever confused the two George would correct her _immediately_…

Well, okay, so maybe there had been that _one _time when he let her believe he was Fred for longer than he should have, but nothing amounted from it. Nor was anything supposed to. It was a simple joke and Fred had laughed with George when Angelina implored that Fred tell her what he meant when he said 'I can be a real git sometimes' earlier that day.

But aside from that George tread carefully around his twin's girlfriend. She was off limits. It wasn't even a question of if George wanted to be more than friends. Or if Fred would care. Or if George wanted to prank both of them. It was just a simple fact. Angelina was OFF LIMITS. In capitals. George hadn't even trained his mind to think this. She just was. And his brain still clung to this firmly.

And what Angelina was doing now, while granted was her own doing, was breaching the accord.

George tried to surreptitiously move away as he spoke, "So, basically, you've never seen that look before?" The words burned George's throat and left a harsh ache behind his ribs, but he ignored them, distracted by trying to extract himself from the form beside him.

Oblivious to George's attempts, Angelina snuggled closer to him, now clearly crying, "H-how do you d-do th-that?"

"What? How do I think deep and profound things?" George asked casually, still struggling to escape. "It's easy really…I'll show you sometime."

Angelina ceased her cuddling long enough to glance up at George and give him a watery smile, "No, I meant how do you talk about F-F-F-"

She broke off, taking a shaky breath before continuing, "Talk about F-Fred like that? L-like mentioning h-his name w-won't kill you."

George cast his eyes away from Angelina's searching ones, "It's late, isn't it? You should probably head home and get some rest."

Angelina dropped her head back onto his shoulder, "It's nice here though."

George glanced down at her and spoke again, "Well, I should probably get some rest." _Lie, Lie, Lie!_ His brain chanted at him. He wouldn't be going to sleep anytime soon. _Do you want to shut up now? Unless you've got something to help me out of this situation? _George's internal conversation fell comically quiet.

Angelina snapped her head up at his last sentence. Her wide, slightly wet eyes met his and she scrambled back away from him on the sofa, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"Ange, Ange," George said gently. "Don't apologize…you didn't do anything wrong."

"No," Angelina said, standing up abruptly. "I mean, yes! Yes I did! I'm so, so sorry! I don't know what came over me. I jus-"

"Relax," George said, following suit and standing. "You did not do anything wro-"

Angelina's eyes widened (if possible) even more, "I'm so sorry…Fred." With that last word she turned and raced out of the room.

George began pursuit, but stopped short when he heard the tell-tale signs of Floo flames.

George spun around and slammed a fist into the wall, taking some small amount of satisfaction from the crack of bones in his tightly balled hand and the sharp pain accompanying it. He kicked the end table over and crunched through the shattered glass that now sat on the floor from the cup that had been resting there. Groaning, he sunk back onto the couch, his mind swirling furiously and his hand throbbing dully.

~8~

Hermione's day had passed uneventfully thus far. She'd spent most of it reconciling a dispute between two Heads of Departments. After that tiring affair she'd ignored Percy's orders to go get lunch and began tackling the piles and piles of paperwork she had.

She hadn't ever been particularly fond of paperwork, but she hadn't ever really minded it either. In this case she found it to be soothing and the repetitiveness of it all eased her pounding head.

That's why several hours later her headache was gone and she felt slightly more relaxed, if not better. Hermione was surprised out of her calm state, however, when Percy called her into his office. She rarely, if ever, was specifically asked in. She entered a lot throughout the day to ask a question or get an opinion, but was never commanded in to discuss something.

This day was the exception, clearly.

Hermione pushed open the door and looked expectantly at Percy, "Yes?"

"Sit," Percy said, pointing to the chair across from him.

Hermione did as he said, smiling lightly, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're firing me."

Percy didn't return the smile.

Hermione dropped her cheerful attitude, "What's wrong?" Images of her parents wandering aimlessly somewhere, their minds damaged beyond repair, or Harry and Ron lying dead, shot down by a spell scrambled for a seat in her mind. "Percy, please…tell me!" A note of urgency snuck into her voice.

"Have you heard of the Chalice of Alligatura?" Percy asked.

Hermione racked her mind quickly, "That was one of the prototypes to the Goblet of Fire, correct?"

"Yes," Percy nodded. "And have you heard the tale of what it did that, in the end, made it unsuitable for use in the Triwizard Tournament?"

Hermione shook her head, wondering what he was getting at here, the images of earlier slipping away.

"Well," Percy said, taking a deep breath, "The makers of this Chalice were positive that it would succeed and they tested it openly, sure that public would be amazed with their genius. They placed four names in the cup and waited. A few moments later there was a burst of red flame and a small piece of paper floated out. One of the men that created the Chalice, Anthony Stienbrooke I believe his name was, reached up and grabbed the paper from the air, boasting loudly that it had worked. A skeptic from the gathered group of people called out for him to read the name. Anthony, laughing about the audience member's doubt, glanced down to the piece of paper in his hand. His eyes widened as he read what was burnt into the paper. It said, 'Phillip Young' and 'Tricia Yepp'. Both were names they had thrown in, but they had been on separate pieces of parchment. Now they were burned on to one. After much testing and fiddling, Anthony and his partner admitted defeat. They became a laughingstock and the Chalice was placed away as a mistake, never to be used again. Or so everyone had thought. A few years later, an especially cynical Minister brought it out again. He used it to marry his 'subjects', as he referred to them. He'd made a game out of it almost. Once a year he would place all the eligible men and women's names into the Chalice. They would go in on separate pieces of paper, but would come out with two burnt together. Those two people would then be required to wed. That didn't last long and soon the Chalice was placed away again. It has remained that way since then."

Hermione stared at Percy, wondering why he had suddenly decided to give her a history lesson. "That's…interesting."

Percy shook his head, "That's not my point. Yesterday I got a report from The Department of Historical and Magical Artefacts…that was the piece of paper I was looking at when you checked with me last night."

Hermione remained silent, waiting for him to explain.

"The Chalice has been behaving strangely. The Head of Department thinks it's a sign. She wishes for me to put in place a marriage law."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, "What would that law entail?"

"Every unwed witch and wizard who will be eighteen by the end of the year will place their name in the Chalice. They will wed according to its choosing." Percy said.

Hermione crinkled up her brow, "You're joking. You've got to be joking. What would you hope to accomplish by that?!"

"I hope to give families to the hundreds of orphaned children and," Percy paused here, choosing his words carefully. "Secure the magical world's future."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her heart dropping to her toes.

"I mean that at the rate we're going at the whole magical community will be wiped of the face of the Earth," Percy said.

"But surely we will fix that overtime without the help of this…this…preposterous idea of yours?" Hermione scoffed, holding back a more fierce comment.

"I haven't told you the best part yet," Percy said drily. "The report informs me that if we do not take action then the Chalice will mostly likely decompose slowly and disappear over time. And, while the Department would be distraught by such a loss, that would be desirable as opposed to the other option."

Hermione nodded, her heart reclaiming its rightful place in her chest. Percy was just telling her to expect some angry Department members soon…that was all.

Percy sighed at her hopeful expression, "I then went on to read that there is a possibility that the Chalice, instead of going quietly, will explode. It will do permanent damage to buildings, people, animals, land, water, and anything else it surrounds. The residue of magic that strong is extremely dangerous. The likelihood of that happening is big enough that I can't take the risk."

Hermione remained silent for a moment before smiling slightly, "Well, then we'll just have to outsmart this Chalice. We can put names in it and let it go about its business, but never actually follow through with the marriages."

Percy shook his head almost immediately, "I already suggested that to the Head of the Department. She said that would be suicidal. The Chalice's magic is different…it will not end well if we attempt to trick it."

Hermione's smile slid off her face, "Percy, you can't be serious about this."

"Hermione, I've looked at the figures. I've spent a lot of time thinking about this." Percy looked strained, but determined. "I don't want to say this, but…it's the only way."

~8~

Hermione chewed her lip nervously as her and Percy approached the Burrow. It was Sunday, but she and Percy still had gone to work. They didn't get days off. They probably would've still been at the Ministry had it not been for Mrs. Weasely's Howler that had scolded them for not making an appearance at the last family dinner. It had gone on to scream about how they 'had better show up this evening or else I will _personally_ come down to the Ministry and drag you two by your _ears_!'

Percy had told Hermione that the possibility of a marriage law was not to be brought up. He wished that he could tell his family, but knew that it could have deadly repercussions if the Minister's family knew this top secret information before anyone else. So Hermione had agreed to hold her tongue. It wasn't as if she _wanted _to tell anyone anyway.

And now they stood before the door of Percy's family's home. Hermione stopped her lip chewing long enough to stuff a finger in between her teeth and tongue. She now gnawed on her finger as Percy took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A distant voice screamed, "Oh for Merlin's sake, Percy, get your arse in here…this is your house!"

A different voice, this one distinguishable as Mrs. Weasley's, screamed back, "Watch your language, Ginevra Weasley!"

Percy laughed stiffly at his family's antics and opened the door, gesturing for Hermione to enter first. She did so, struck by the smell of cooking food and the sight of the worn out house.

Ginny came tearing around the corner and slammed full force into Hermione, "I should have known that the two workaholics would come in together!"

Hermione wrapped her younger friend into a hug and forced a laugh, "How did you know it was me?"

"I grew up with that insufferable prick," Ginny broke away from the hug and gestured towards Percy who was being attacked by Mrs. Weasley, "I think I can recognize his footsteps. And once I established that it wasn't him the next logical choice was you."

"Oh? Is everyone else here then?" Hermione asked, peering towards the living room from which Ginny had emerged.

"Yeah…well, except Charlie," Ginny scoffed lightly. "He was too busy in Romania with his precious _dragons_."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but was stopped by Mrs. Weasley's sudden exclamation.

"Oh dear, Hermione, you're so skinny!"

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, preparing for the onslaught of questions. She opened them to see that Ginny had disappeared. Deserter. Hermione turned to greet Molly. The woman had a smile on her face, but her slightly red and puffy eyes contradicted her happy appearance.

"Have you been eating anything? Has Percy been working you too hard?" Mrs. Weasley glared suspiciously at her son as if he had single-handedly starved Hermione.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley…and no, Percy has been very gracious," Hermione said, glancing towards the living room to see her two best friends, Ron and Harry, exiting and heading her way.

"Good," Mrs. Weasley gave a short nod. "Well, just make sure that you eat up tonight, okay dear?"

"She will, Mum," Ron said in exasperation, wrapping an arm around Hermione and squeezing her lightly.

"Okay, well…" Mrs. Weasley trailed off as she walked away, leaving Hermione with her friends.

"It's great to see you 'Mione," Harry said, straightening his glasses as he stepped back from their hug.

"It's been so long," Ron said, imploring with his eyes, trying to make her understand that it had been so long that it was unbelievable, really, that she hadn't come to see him.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Ronald, I saw you three days ago at the Ministry."

"Yeah, but we only waved from across the room!" Ron said indignantly.

"Well, yes, but you don't have to act as if you suspected me dead!" Hermione said.

Ron got a defensive look about him.

"Wha-" Hermione broke off, looking between the surly ginger and Harry, who was barely able to keep his amusement in check. "Oh, Ronald…you didn't actually think I'd died, did you?"

"Pecry's insane…I wouldn't put it past him to work someone to death," Ron said, crossing his arms and sending a just-_try_-and-tell-me-I-was-being-stupid look at the pair standing before him. "Accidentally, of course."

"Of course," Harry said, his serious look fooling no one.

Ron just drooped his head and dropped his voice, "I already lost one person I loved…you can't blame me for being scared that it might happen again."

Hermione instantly felt horrid about her insensitive behavior towards him. She reached out and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, "You're right, Ron…I'm sorry. I was being rather nasty."

A look of guilt had inched its way across Harry's face as well, "I'm sorry too, mate."

Ron quickly rubbed an arm across his face and looked up, forcing a small smile, "Nah…don't apologize. I was being ridiculous."

Hermione returned the gesture and said, "Why don't we see what everyone else is doing?" She figured the embarrassed Ron would appreciate a distraction.

When her two friends nodded in agreement, Hermione lead the way into the living room. Bill and Fleur were present, Fleur's pregnant belly obvious even from a distance. Mr. Weasley sat at a small card table, tinkering with a Muggle fan. Percy was sitting on the couch, red-faced and uncomfortable, his tormenter, Ginny, hanging over him. George sat next to Percy, but he looked distant as if lost in thought. Mrs. Weasley must have returned to the kitchen.

It was odd, in that moment Hermione was almost able to forget about the outside world. She felt as though she had just been transported back in time and it was the night before the Hogwart's train departure, everyone stressed, apprehensive, and excited about the coming school year.

Except for the glaringly obvious missing person. And the hidden pain and sadness behind each face in the room.

~8~

George carefully cradled his right hand in his lap as he passed the peas to Ginny with his left. He didn't want a grimace to give away his pain. Because then the questions would follow.

Does it hurt? _No, of course not. I was just wincing for fun. _How'd you hurt it? _Oh, you know…slamming my fist into a wall. _Why did you do that? _Because my late twin brother's girlfriend snuggled with me, promptly followed by her either apologizing to Fred or calling _me _Fred._

Probably wouldn't go over so great. George stuffed a mouthful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and chewed angrily. Angelina refused to see him. He'd tried five times since that night, but she kept turning him away, saying that she was too busy right now and that maybe they could talk in a few days. George slammed his fork onto his plate to retrieve another scoop of potatoes.

"Hey, George," Ginny said, breaking through his thoughts. "Go easy on that plate…if you break it we lose our last full set of dishes."

George glanced down at the fork, which was bending slightly under the pressure from his hand. He slowly eased off the downward push and set the fork next to his plate. He tuned out of his thoughts and attempted to listen to the conversations going on around him.

Bill and Dad discussing some Muggle contraption. Boring. Ginny and Hermione laughing over some old school memory. Extremely boring, seeing as one of the remember-ers was Hermione. As far as George knew she'd spent every free minute in the library. Percy talking about work with Mum, Fleur, and Harry. More boring than the other two combined since Percy was carrying the conversation. George's estimation of the conversation's interest was backed by Harry's bobbing head. Ron staring at Hermione. Bo-

Or was it? George knew that Ron had a crush on the bushy haired girl since their school years and had teased his younger brother about it endlessly at times. But it had been awhile. Besides, perhaps it would aid in distracting himself from his thoughts of Angelina…and Fred.

"Hey, Ron," George said, poking the boy next to him. "Whatcha looking at?"

Ron jumped at George's touch, glaring at his older brother, "What are you talking about?" Ron looked down at his cleared plate, seemingly disappointed that he'd finished his meal already.

"Why don't you just ask her out?" George took a slow drink of water, calculating Ron's reaction.

It was surprisingly mild.

"It's not that simple," Ron sighed, dropping his voice.

"Oh?" George said. "And why is that?"

"W-we…we ha-h…we," Ron stammered on his words for a few moments, before finally whispering, "We kissed." He tightly shut his eyes, hoping to block out George's reaction.

Which was decidedly _un_mild.

"WHAT?!" George cried, leaping out of his seat.

Everyone halted in their conversations and stared at George, perhaps wondering if he'd lost his mind. Ron turned a bright shade of red and George felt him kick his shin beneath the table.

"Sorry," George announced to the group before him, sinking back into his seat. When he was positive they all had resumed their talking and were no longer paying any attention he whispered at Ron, "You've kissed her, but _still _haven't asked her out? You're pathetic."

Ron glared, but didn't offer any defense. He grabbed a piece of bread and picked up his knife, buttering it fiercely while trying to remain unaffected. His charade didn't work though. He managed to stick his whole hand in the butter and then proceeded to tear hole after hole into the slice of bread he held.

George found the whole spectacle amusing. And his mind had stayed far away from his problems if only for a few minutes. He smirked and slid his wand out of his pocket beneath the table. A flick from the object sent the bowl of peas flying right into Ron's buttered hand. They stuck nicely, creating a green hand which Ron flung about madly trying to lose the peas. Mrs. Weasley cried out in dismay as he smashed his hand into his plate which teetered on the edge of the table before crashing to the floor. The ensuing mess included a lot of yelling, a bit more food being thrown, and one person (Harry, to be exact) slipping on the gelatin that had ended up behind his chair. It didn't end well.

George smiled. _Perfect _


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: A massive thank you to my beta (Bubbly Llama). She's the best!**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

**Thanks to the following for reviewing: NoMultigrainFighting and Bubbly Llama. **

**Warning: Please note that the following contains mention of suicidal thoughts/actions. **

"_**Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."― Seneca**_

Hermione knew she shouldn't be surprised. She was expecting it. Percy had told her that he had sent them out and they'd be arriving on Tuesday. Today was Tuesday. So there was no reason that the purple envelope with the Minister's seal on it should come as a shock to her. She supposed the only reason it did was that she couldn't believe it was really happening.

Hermione took a deep breath and opened the envelope, pulling out the parchment. She skipped over the formalities at the top of the letter, slowing her reading when she reached the middle.

…_All unmarried witches and wizards, over eighteen by the end of this year, are required to place their name in the Chalice. The Chalice will remain in the lobby of the Ministry, accessible to everyone until Friday the twelfth. If you are unable to reach the Ministry within those three days please contact us and we will make sure that your name is added. The Saturday after, the fourteenth, will be the drawing. Attendance is not necessary as you will receive a letter with your future partner's name regardless. You are expected to marry within the month, but exclusions to that are possible if we are given a valid reason. _

_We thank you for your support, patience, and acceptance in these troubling times. If you have any concerns or questions please owl us or visit in person during office hours._

_The Minister for Magic,_

_Percy Weasley_

Hermione tucked the letter back into the envelope, tossing it down on her kitchen table. So... There it was. This wasn't some elaborate joke. It was real. And it was really happening.

Ron. That was Hermione's first thought. She loved him. At least she was pretty sure she did. Her feelings for him were different… stronger, perhaps… than what she had felt for Viktor Krum. She hadn't had time to talk to Ron about their kiss and what it meant for them, but she had planned to do just that when the both of them had time. Of course there was the chance that she would get Ron. That would have to for now.

With her mind firmly holding on to that possibility, her thoughts went to how the wizarding community would react. It wouldn't be taken well… that much she was sure of. Poor Percy would get the bru-

Percy! He would no doubt be attacked with questions, anger, and, very possibly, spells. Hermione rushed to her fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder. She stepped into the fireplace, dropping the powder and speaking the Ministry's name.

The strange sensation died away, leaving Hermione to step out of the fireplace and into the Ministry of Magic's lobby. The Chalice sat, as expected, in the center of the room. A faint glimmer of magic could be seen around it, protecting it from spells meant to destroy it. A few people hung around it, eyeing it suspiciously. Others stood farther away in small groups talking, casting glares at the object every now and then.

"Unless you are placing your name in, please step away from the Chalice. There is no need to loiter near it," Hermione spoke up, looking pointedly at those closest to it.

One man looked up at Hermione's words and slowly walked towards her, "You can't just do that."

Hermione felt for her wand unconsciously, her muscles tensing slightly, "I'm sorry about this, but it's for the best. I promise." Her words sounded hollow… unsurprising seeing as she wasn't rightly sure herself if it was, indeed, for the best.

"For the best?!" The man cried, his face contorting in rage. "Marrying off my eighteen year old girl to some random man?! How is that for the best?!"

"Yeah!" A younger man stepped up behind the first. "You just expect me to marry some girl I may not have even met before?"

A woman joined in, "It's twisted! You hot heads up top think it's fine, but what you don't understand-"

She was cut off as someone else screamed, "It's that dratted young Minister, Percy Weasley. This wouldn't be happening if _he _wasn't in charge!"

Hermione felt a rush of anger and pulled out her wand, a loud '_pop'_ causing everyone to fall silent. "Perhaps you've all forgotten, but Percy Weasley stepped up when no one else would. We would still be sitting in ruins if not for him!" Hermione snapped. "I suggest you think about what he's done for all of us before you go running your mouths off."

Most of the people looked down to their feet and slipped back, but a few remained. They glared fiercely at Hermione, their posture tight and threatening.

Hermione stepped past them and into a waiting lift, sighing in relief as it began trundling on its way. She wasn't surprised that people had reacted this way, but she _had _hoped the news wouldn't spread so fast. It was still very early, so most of the people in the lobby must have traveled here as soon as they read the letter.

The lift ground to a stop and Hermione stepped out, speed walking to her office. She knew it wasn't good when, halfway down the hall, she met a line. A line leading directly to her door. She scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to calm down.

She couldn't send away all these upset people, but this line alone would take up a good two hours. And by that time the next wave would be on its way, no doubt. Hermione still had mounds of other things to do and she hadn't had a chance to ask about her parents.

_Deep breathes,_ Hermione told herself, _in and out; in and out; in an-_

"Look!" The woman that was at the end of the line had turned and spotted Hermione. "It's Hermione Granger!"

The line, almost as one entity, turned and stared at the new arrival. Then all hell broke loose.

"Is this true?!"

"What is that fool thinking?!"

"If this is a joke-!"

"This is totally uncalled for and you-"

"My sister fainted-_fainted_-because of this!"

"My boyfriend and I are in love and you can't ju-"

"You're not-"

"Please," Hermione shouted, trying to make herself heard. "The Minister and I will answer all of your questions and discuss your concerns…_one _at a time in our offices. Now, if I could get through?"

Most everyone fell back, creating an aisle for Hermione. She hurried up it and into her office. "I will call for the first in line in a moment."

She shut the door behind her and placed a spell on it. She didn't want people storming in uninvited. Percy's door was open and Hermione saw that he sat at his desk with an older woman. He lifted his hand to show that he had seen her and the old woman, noticing Percy's gesture, turned, squinting her eyes a fraction at Hermione.

Well, at least Percy seemed to be doing okay. Hermione rolled her neck and took another deep breath. This was going to be a long day.

~8~

_George. George! George Weasley!_

George roused himself, flipping to his other side in his bed. He could see the sunlight peaking around the drawn shade. Morning again. It was strange having woken up without the assistance of nightmares. Although…

He _had _been dreaming. That's what woke him. Someone calling his name. He couldn't recall the voice and that was the only thing he did remember. Just his name. Odd.

"George Weasley, where are you?!"

George bolted up into a sitting position, his eyes scanning the room. Not a dream then. She wasn't in this room, but George would recognize Ginny's voice anywhere.

"I'm upstairs!" George called, listening to her footsteps thumping up the steps and down the hall.

The door. That was the first clue to Ginny's rotten mood. She could've opened it quietly or even slammed it open, but she felt the need to literally blast it off. It thudded down and a red faced Ginny, violently gripping her wand, stormed in.

"That was too far, George!" Ginny stepped over the door and up to his bed, throwing some indescribable purple shape down on his bed. "It wasn't remotely funny! You gave Mum a heart attack or near as about and Harry went bonkers! I think Ron nearly fainted! And when Percy hears about this… oh, you'd better have a shielding spell ready!"

George scrunched up his forehead. Was he still sleeping? "I'm sorry, Gin, bu-"

"Don't 'Gin' me, you arse!" Ginny cried, grabbing his pillow and swinging it forcefully at George's head.

George ducked in time, lifting his head slowly after the near hit. Ginny still held the pillow at the ready, her glare fierce.

"I haven't done anything, Gin… as much as I wish I had caused this," George gestured to Ginny, "I honestly haven't done anything."

"You call this nothing!" Ginny screeched, grabbing the purple mass with her free hand and flinging it into George's lap.

George cautiously picked it up, realizing that it was paper crunched up into a ball. He smoothed it out as much as he could and took in the purple envelope which was addressed to Harry. It had the Ministry seal on it.

"This wasn't me," George said, pulling the contents of the envelope out. He scanned the page, his eyes widening the farther down the page he got. "Ginny, I swear… this wasn't me."

"Oh, ha ha," Ginny said, dropping the pillow back to his bed and rolling her eyes. "You can stop acting now… I know it's just a prank."

George looked up at Ginny in shock, but she merely raised her eyebrows as if waiting for something. An apology, probably. Well, she wasn't going to get it.

George stood, stepping past Ginny and out into the hall. "Fix my door, alright?"

"F-fix your door?!" Ginny stumbled on her words as a result of her rage.

"You broke it, didn't you?" George didn't wait for a reply, taking the stairs in bounds. He heard Ginny thumping down behind him.

_She didn't fix the door, _George thought, shaking his head at her misdemeanor.

"Where are you going?!" Ginny snapped, matching George's pace. They entered the storage area of the shop and George grabbed a pile of papers on the small table that inhabited the room. It had been used primarily for the person who was taking inventory, but with the shop's closing, George had taken to throwing his mail on it when delivered. He didn't want to receive mail and if he hid the post in this hardly-entered room it wouldn't glare at him.

He flipped through the stack, ignoring the junk mail, letters from people asking about the shop, and business inquiries. There! Wedged in between an ad for a 'fool-proof burglar alarm' (Guaranteed not to be triggered by cats or owls) and a letter addressed in shaky, squiggly script, was a purple envelope resembling the one Ginny had brought.

Just to be sure, George broke the seal and scanned the first few words. It was identical.

Ginny, who had been quietly peering over his shoulder, spoke softly, "This is just part of the prank… you wanted to trick me."

George turned to his sister and shook his head slowly.

"Yes," Ginny said, her eyes filling with tears. "Please, George… just say it's all a joke!"

George set the mail back on the table, "I'm sorry… Gin…"

~8~

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, "Look, I understand that you're upset… but please don't send _all_ of your House-elves to torment us. That would pose a challenge and slow our work down."

The woman who sat opposite Hermione shook her head, "You don't understand… these are my children you're marrying off! If you expect me to just quietly comply then you're in for something else!"

Hermione held back a sigh, "Perha-"

"No," The woman said with an air of finality, standing abruptly. "My children's names are not going in and that's final." She sent a sharp nod in Hermione's direction and sped out of the room before Hermione could get a word in edgewise.

A glance at the clock told her that there was only another hour before the Ministry closed. Then maybe she could get some work done. She had severely underestimated the number of people who had lined up outside of her and Percy's offices.

Hermione stood and walked to the door, stretching her arm out to open the door. She repeated what she had already spoken so many times today, "Next!'

Six forms started forward and Hermione raised her hands to stop them, only to drop them back to her side.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded.

Ginny (For it was, indeed, Ginny) stood at the head of the group, a grim expression firmly in place on her face. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, George, and Harry made up the afore mentioned group.

"'Mione, what's going on?" Harry asked nervously.

_No. Not them. Anyone but them. _Hermione felt queasy and her mind kept hissing at her, stating all the reasons this was bad. _Ron. Ginny and Harry. Poor Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. And Percy, poor Percy._

"Oh dear, she looks slightly green," Mrs. Weasley fretted.

Hermione bit down on her lip, hard enough that the metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. She _wasn't_ going to melt into a puddle of hopelessness.

"Come in," Hermione said, stepping aside and gesturing for the large group to enter.

"Are you sure you're okay, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, wringing her hands.

"Fine," Hermione said, smiling tightly. She shut her door when everyone had entered and turned to address them all.

However, at that moment Percy exited his office helping a frail, knobby woman to the door. His eyes took in his family and Hermione saw his pained expression. He hid it quite well, but Hermione could see through his calm demeanor.

"Give me a moment," Percy said to his family, tilting his head towards the old woman.

"Oh, of _course_," Ginny hissed, scrunching up her eyes at her older brother in distaste.

Hermione opened the newly shut door and waited until Percy had deposited the woman with a man, presumably her husband, and had returned to the office before shutting it again.

"Hello, Mum, Dad," Percy said, briefly hugging Mrs. Weasley.

"Hello, dear, how is everything going?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Mum!" Ginny screeched. "This isn't a bloody social call!"

"Don't talk to your mother that way, young lady!" Mr. Weasley said, send Ginny a reproving look.

"She's right though," Ron muttered, glaring darkly at Percy. "We're not here to congratulate him."

Hermione stepped forward and broke the heated discussion, "Why don't you sit down?"

A few minutes (And dragged chairs) later, everyone (Except Ginny) was seated. Percy took a deep breath and launched into an explanation. Hermione tried to listen, but found herself taking stock of what still had to be done today.

She needed to check with the Aurors on the threats; finish a mound of paperwork; ask for news about her parents; get a report of the Chalice…make sure all was going well; remember to-

Hermione glanced up, realizing that a silence had fallen across the office. Percy had clearly finished explaining, as he now gazed imploringly at his mother and father who had small frowns fixed on their faces. Ron was staring at the floor, Harry the ceiling. George had a dazed out look on his face and Ginny had turned an amazing shade of red.

"I'm going to put my name in too," Ginny said, staring at Harry as she spoke.

"Ginny, you aren't required to do this," Hermione said. "You still have to return to Hogwarts for your last year this autumn."

"You think I'm going to let Harry get away from me?!" Ginny snapped, whipping her head around towards Hermione.

Everyone remained silent, shocked by the venom in her voice.

"I _am _putting my name in!" Ginny cried, glaring at Percy.

Harry sighed, "Gin…don't do this for-"

"Shut up, Harry…my name is going in," Ginny glanced around the room, daring anyone to try and change her mind.

Mrs. Weasley looked tempted to say something, but Mr. Weasley had a hand on his wife's arm almost as if restraining her words. Harry looked torn between sadness and pride; he knew he wasn't changing her mind, but he was glad that Ginny was being her usual stubborn self.

"Percy," Ginny said, stepping towards Harry. "Harry and I had better end up together." She stated it so calmly… which (Seeing as it was Ginny) was scary.

Percy sighed, "I've looked at the results of matches made by the Chalice… they have an eighty percent chance of ending up happy."

"Eighty?!" Ginny cried, the calmness from a moment ago gone. "So there's a twenty percent chance that I _won't _get Harry?!"

"I didn't say that," Percy said, trying to remain calm. "I said 'there's an eighty percent chance of ending up _happy'._"

Ginny looked down at Harry, who looked unwell, and back up at Percy. She reached down and grasped Harry's hand, "There's not a difference for me."

~8~

George wasn't sure what to feel. Numb, is what he seemed to have settled on. His mind refused to wrap around this bizarre event. He couldn't marry someone. He could hardly even face Lee and Angelina, his best friends.

_Angelina._ What about her? How could she be expected to commit herself to someone? George felt a rush of protectiveness. It somehow seemed like it was his responsibility to look after Angelina…for Fred. And what of Lee? That poor guy seemed to have a girl (If George's suspicions were correct) that he fancied quite a bit.

George groaned; this wasn't fair… or right. He wanted someone to blame, to yell at, but, as much as he wished otherwise, he couldn't bring himself to take his frustrations out on Percy. It really seemed to be the only way and it wasn't as if Percy was enjoying this anymore than anyone else. It was obvious by his quiet demeanor and worn face that this whole situation had taken its toll on him.

Ginny wasn't being nearly as understanding of Percy's predicament as George, however. She was currently cursing at him with everything in the book, whilst Harry tried to calm her down. George glanced towards Ron and felt a sharp tug at his heart.

Yeah, sure… he'd teased his younger brother about his affections for Hermione, but George had always, truly wanted Ron to be happy. And the look on Ron's face now was heartbreaking. He stared at Hermione, who was consoling Mrs. Weasley as best she could, his eyes a mix of hope and sadness.

Suddenly George was overwhelmed. He couldn't take this. Not the worry for Lee and Angelina; not the anger for Ginny and Harry; not the sadness for Hermione and Ron; not the stress for Percy. George stood abruptly, walking towards the door. His head spun and he only half heard Percy ask him a question. It was too much work, too difficult, to come back to the present and concentrate. Much easier to keep walking, ignore the mumbled voices. He pulled open the door and was about to step through it when a warm presence on his arm stopped him.

He snapped back to reality and glanced to his side, seeing Ginny holding on to his arm, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Don't you _dare_ George," Ginny whispered fiercely. The room had fallen dead silent and everyone stared at George, their eyes filled with concern.

_What was everyone's problem? He had just been leaving the room. Wasn't he allowed to do that?_

"What are you talking about, Gin?" George asked quietly.

"You were saying 'Fred. I'm going to Fred'…you are bloody not, George!" Ginny dug her nails in to his arm slightly.

George had considered ending it several times since Fred's death, but he had always been able to block out the voices that hissed at him. He didn't _want _to die… Fred wouldn't have wanted him to die. But the voices were adamant. They thought they knew right. They had taken over now though… George didn't remember opening his mouth, but judging by the horrified expressions on the room's occupants, what Ginny had said was true; he was saying he was going to join Fred aloud. And he had absolutely no recollection of it.

Ginny gently tugged George back to his chair, pushing him down and glancing around as if to search for something to hold him in place. The voices still tapped at George's mind, begging to be let in.

Angelina. And his family. Once this whole thing was over-when George was positive Angelina and his family were safe and well-perhaps then he would allow the voices to lead him. But for now he had to resist. Keep his walls up. For everyone's sake.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you, Bubbly Llama, for proof reading this chapter! **

**I know this is late in coming, but I want to wish all my readers a happy New Year!**

**Thanks to all those who have followed/favorited this story so far!**

**And last, but certainly not least, thanks to those who reviewed: Bubbly Llama, NoMultigrainFighting, and xXMizz Alec VolturiXx. **

"_**The thinner the ice, the more anxious is everyone to see whether it will bear" -Josh Billings**_

Hermione fell into her bed, exhaustion settled into her very bones. Sighing, she yanked the covers over her head and shut her eyes, waiting for the peace to come. Except that it didn't.

And it probably wouldn't. At least not tonight. Tomorrow was Saturday. _The _Saturday…the day of the drawing.

Hermione and Percy had, once again, been bowled over by the number of angry people banging at their office doors today. And after they had waded through the line they _still_ had all of that day's work. Of course by that time is was already four in the afternoon…so maybe it was 'that night's work'. Either way, Hermione hadn't left for home until ten o'clock. And she was tired.

But sleep danced at the edge of her mind, refusing to take over. She would have to rise in seven hours…and help Percy with the drawing. If she had a choice she probably would've stayed home. Avoid the inevitable. As it was, she would be forced to stand through every painful minute of driving people together. Just thinking about it caused a dull ache in her head.

She sat up abruptly, tossing the covers off. Crookshanks, who was lying at her feet, glanced up from his washing. His orange eyes met her brown ones.

"What's going to happen, Crooks?" Hermione whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Crookshanks stared for a moment longer, before dropping his head back down to lick his chest.

"I'm so worried…what if something goes wrong?" Hermione shivered, hugging her knees tightly. "What if Ginny and Harry don't end up together? It'll kill them."

Crookshanks carried on licking, his head bouncing rhythmically.

Hermione felt a small smile sneaking up her check, "Are you telling me not to worry? Or are you just showing me how completely indifferent you are to the whole situation?"

The lump of fur, clearly satisfied with the cleanliness of his own chest, stood and stretched. He stalked up the length of the bed and turned one circle in front of Hermione, plopping down on her bare feet. He began to rumble.

Hermione sighed, absentmindedly reaching down to rub Crookshanks' back, "I suppose there's not much I can do…perhaps I should just relax and try to not think about it."

Of course, that was easier said than done.

Hermione shook her head, pulling her feet out from underneath Crookshanks and standing. She received a death glare from her half-Kneazle, but ignored it. She padded across her floor to her bookshelf and gazed at the titles, some half worn off. She bit her lip, cocking her head slightly sideways to read the spines. Making up her mind, she reached up and plucked a thick, leather bound book down from one of the higher shelves. Taking a step back to steady herself, she brushed a hand over the cover of the book.

_Hogwarts: A History. _

Hermione lugged the tome back to her bed and settled back in, tugging the covers out from under Crookshanks, which earned her another glare. Hermione cracked the book open, the smell of old parchment and ink slipping out. Grabbing her wand from the bedside table, she cast _Lumos._

She slowly turned the pages, glancing at some of the pictures, but not really taking in much information. She'd read it enough times already. Now she was merely taking in the memories.

She smiled slightly, reading the part that mentioned boys being unable to enter the girl's dormitories. The stairs would morph into a slide. One time, in particular, that she had witnessed this transformation sprung to mind. She had been sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room with Ronald and Harry…working on a Potions essay, perhaps? Anyway, Lee Jordan had attempted to walk up the stairs to the sixth year dormitories. Later on, after much reprimanding on Professor McGonagall's part, Lee insisted that he had seen into the room even though Angelina (A sixth year at the time), the last one to leave the room, said that she had shut the door. Hermione could still remember Lee's indignant look, so sure that he had, in fact, seen into the room. And Fred! (At least, Hermione was _reasonably_ sure that it was Fred) He had walked around in a small rage the rest of that evening, glaring at any first year who so much as tried to _look_ at him. Hermione could even remember George's (Assuming, of course, that it was George…) look of glee at his jealous brother's wrath. Not that there was anything to be rightly jealous of.

Hermione sighed, her memories abruptly being cut off by the sharp reminder that Fred was now dead and George seemed to be a shell of his normal self. Lee, Angelina, and heck, even Ronald were all in rough shape as well. The only person who seemed in better sprits now than they had been that eventful evening was Harry. Hermione couldn't really blame him; he had been so worked up over the Triwizard Tournament that year. And now the burden of Voldemort had been lifted from his shoulders as well.

Not to say that Harry was doing fantastic, because that would be an overstatement if ever there was one. No…instead he was merely doing better than he had been before. Which wasn't saying much when _before_ you were the Boy Who Lived; a beacon of hope who was mentally tied to Lord Voldemort. After all, what wasn't an improvement from that?

Hermione turned the page, this time her mind flying to her second year and how she had forgotten the password to the Gryffindor dormitories. She snorted as she remembered how terrified she had gotten. She had left her Charms book in her room and was going to be late for class if she didn't get to it soon. Instead of doing the reasonable thing (Going to class and explaining) she panicked and began begging The Fat Lady to let her in. Obviously that hadn't worked and Hermione had been near tears. She distinctly remembered sinking down to the floor and sniffling, ready to give up. At that moment, however, Lavender Brown walked by. Hermione, quite literally, had never been so happy to see the girl.

_Nor have you ever been that happy to see her again_, Hermione thought dryly, her mind skipping forward to her sixth year and the disastrous relationship between the bubbly girl and Ron. Hermione couldn't hold a grudge against Lavender…she had died bravely for a greater cause. But she still got that twinge of hurt each time she recalled Lavender and 'Won-Won' walking the halls, her hanging off his arm. Ron had since told Hermione that he was glad their relationship had ended, but Hermione knew that, regardless of if he was glad or not, he had enjoyed the attention.

Hermione snapped the book shut, causing Crookshanks to jump up and generating another glare.

"I'm sorry, Crooky," Hermione sighed, setting the book on her bedside table. "Just taking an annoying trip down memory lane."

Crookshanks hopped off the bed and stalked out of the room, clearly having given up on getting sleep when Hermione remained in the same room.

_I don't blame him, _Hermione thought, falling back against her pillows. _I can't be much of a pleasure to sleep with when I'm acting like this._

Hermione sat up again, her mind working overtime. Sleep with…sleep with…

She felt her face begin to burn. She would, within a month's time, be sharing a bed with someone. Exactly whom, she had no clue, but the very thought sent her mind reeling. Granted, nowhere in the law did it state that the new couple had to share a bed. But Hermione's unknown partner would be the only person she would, possibly ever, get to share that kind of intimacy with.

Groaning, Hermione threw herself back down on her bed. She rolled to her side and curled up. As she began to drift off into the blackness, one word repeated itself inside her head over and over.

_Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron…_

~8~

George didn't want to go. In fact, he would rather have to spend the entirety of the day in History of Magic listening to Binns lecture him on the Giant Wars. At least that way he would be able to get some sleep…something that had evaded him for the past few days.

But he wanted to be there for his family and…Angelina.

Angelina had finally come to visit again, but it hadn't made anything clearer to George. She hadn't brought up the other night and George didn't want to be the one to do it. So, they had just spent the whole visit discussing who Lee's (alleged) girl was. It was ridiculous, really, considering the circumstances, but George had gotten a good laugh out of Angelina's guess of 'Hermione Granger because she has to be getting _someone's _attention…and it's obviously not Ron's!'

George sighed, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder. He stepped into his fireplace and glanced around the shop one last time. Nothing jumped out at him as an excuse to get out of this. Damn it.

Taking a deep breath, George dropped the green powder and called out the Ministry's name. The whispers started even before George had fully stepped out of the fireplace. Most of them were too hushed for George to make out, but the stares on most faces gave away their emotions.

Most were sympathetic. Some sad. A few shocked. A smattering of angry. A couple mistrusting. Several a mixture of all.

_You should have Flooed to the Burrow first and then here, with everyone else, _George's mind chided. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. That was stupid._

"Mummy…isn't that the man who owns Weaswey's Wizardly Wheezes?" A little girl stage-whispered, tugging on a woman's skirt. The woman hushed her child with a fierce look and glanced up to George, her face apologetic.

George dropped his eyes to the floor and walked past the crowds of staring people. Several more half-whispered comments met his ears, some scathing, before he recognized Lee from across the room. Hurrying to his friend's side, he nodded his head in greeting.

Lee smiled half-heartedly, "I've been keeping my eyes open for your family…haven't seen them yet."

George didn't respond, instead scanning the room for familiar faces. The lobby was the only room in the Ministry large enough to fit all the wizards and witches in attendance…they had moved the Chalice to one side of the room, setting up a stage of sorts so all eyes would be able to see the drawing. Everyone seemed to be milling about, nervously watching the lifts for any sign of movement.

"Hey!" Lee cried suddenly, waving his hand wildly above his head. George glanced in the direction Lee's attention was focused to see Angelina struggling towards them.

A few moments later (Yes, moments…she had to stop and apologize when she bumped into a man holding a sleeping baby. The baby had awoken at the jostle and began screaming, shortly followed by the man yelling at Angelina. He had, apparently, just gotten the child to fall asleep) Angelina reached the pair of them, "Hi, George, Lee."

"Hey, Ange," Lee said, attempting a bright smile.

George merely nodded his head again.

"Don't worry about old grumpy bones here," Lee spoke to Angelina, jabbing a thumb in George's direction. "He got up on the wrong side of the bed."

George snorted, "My problem is I never got _in _the bed to begin with!"

"I know," Angelina said, nodding her head empathetically. "I was so worried about today that I barely got any sleep."

George doubted she knew, but he didn't say anything.

"Oh look," Angelina said, pointing over George's shoulder, "There's your family!"

George turned. Mr. Weasley was in front, carefully leading Mrs. Weasley across the crowded room, while simultaneously yelling something at Ginny who was fiercely holding onto Harry's arm. Charlie was there looking slightly dazed…he had only made it home yesterday, having heard the news. Ron was lagging behind the rest, his eyes on the floor.

Ginny, the first to notice George, (Mostly because she was rolling her eyes around the room at whatever her father had said to her) pointed him out to the rest of her group and they made their way up to him.

"…And if I hear that kind of talk coming from your mouth again, I will make sure that you never forget!" Mr. Weasley shouted, releasing his wife's arm once the reached George's side. "Hello, George."

"Hello, Dad," George said, returning his mum's hug. Mrs. Weasley, satisfied with her greeting, stepped away from George to allow Charlie to say hello.

Charlie slapped George on the back, "How're you doin'?"

George wasn't sure how to reply to that. Awful? Sleep deprived? Unwell?

Charlie, clearly not too concerned with his brother's lack of greeting, turned to Angelina and Lee. Before anyone could get another word in though, the clank of a lift dropped a blanket of silence on the room.

Aside from the occasional squeak of a child or cough, the rumble of the lift looming ever closer was the only noise in the room.

"Harry," Ginny whispered, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, "I'm worried."

Harry gripped Ginny's hand, "Me too, Gin…me too."

~8~

Hermione wasn't chewing on her lip. She was gnawing on it. The taste of blood said that she had broken the skin in at least one place already and the raw spots grew in numbers. Percy stood beside her, his face ashen. The light from the lobby was growing closer. Hermione's stomach rolled, her heart dropping to her feet. This was it.

The lift, as if agreeing, ground to a halt, opening its doors. The room was jammed full of people, all eyes boring into Percy and Hermione. Percy gestured for Hermione to step out first and Hermione, although knowing it was out of politeness, felt a spark of resentment. Sure. Send her out first.

_Oh, shut up!_ Hermione hissed at her own mind.

Breathing out, Hermione stepped forward. Everyone remained silent, watching her closely. Breathing shallowly, Hermione walked towards the stage. She heard Percy behind her and, bolstered by the fact that no one had jumped them yet, finished the walk somewhat calmly. She hopped up the steps and waited until Percy joined her. He pulled out his wand and cast _Sonorus._

"Hello…and welcome," Percy began, his eyes sweeping over the audience. "I'm sure you all realize why we are here. I am truly sorry that it has come to this…"

Hermione tuned out his speech, having heard it enough times in his practice runs. She scoured the crowd assembled before her, trying to make out any familiar faces. It was too difficult to distinguish between people in this large of a group so Hermione settled for looking for red hair. That was much easier. However, there were several groups of red heads amongst the crowd.

Hermione briefly tuned back in to Percy's speech.

"…This Chalice. You may not trade, exchange, or otherwise change your drawing. If…"

And tune out again.

Hermione supposed it wasn't that big of a deal…being able to make out her friend's faces. She honestly wasn't sure that she _wanted_ to be able to see them when she had to read out their future in the form of two names.

"…So, let us begin," Percy said, turning expectantly towards Hermione.

Hermione, lost as she had been in her thoughts, was taken by surprise. She hadn't realized Percy's speech was almost over. Her mind scattered, she swallowed hard and pulled out her wand. Casting a quick _Sonorus_ of her own, she turned to the Chalice.

Percy had asked her to read the names off. He hadn't wanted to put this burden on her, Hermione knew, but he needed to be free in order to resolve any…issues.

_You can do this_, Hermione willed herself as she approached the Chalice. She tapped the side of the object, as she had been told to. A spark flew out of it, but no paper. Hermione heard a general muttering noise coming from the audience. Percy stepped toward her, his mouth open as though he would speak.

Suddenly, however, the Chalice sparked again, this time more powerfully. Hermione saw it. A small, rectangle piece of parchment. It slowly floated down towards her. Hermione glanced at Percy and saw him nodded, if not encouragingly. Reaching up, the paper landed softly in Hermione's palm. She turned towards the assembled people and read what she held.

"Neville Longbottom and-" Hermione's throat became obstructed as she read the other name. Worriedly, she looked to Percy, but he was looking out over the crowd. Hermione shook herself. "Neville Longbottom and C-Cho Chang!"

The world seemed suspended for a moment and a wave of nausea washed of Hermione.

This was going to be worse than she thought.


End file.
